


you can have my heart (if you have the stomach to take it)

by Anonymous



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Murder, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), blood kink i guess?, doesn't everbody that watches hannibal have a blood kink, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hannibal collects a stray dog and comes home to Will strangling a man.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 179
Collections: Anonymous





	you can have my heart (if you have the stomach to take it)

**Author's Note:**

> yeah it's as gay as it sounds

As the first drop of rain lands on Hannibal’s cheek, he buttons his coat up to his neck and speeds up. They said it’ll rain this morning, he remembers it quite well, the voice of the weathercast lady coming from the little TV in the corner of their hotel room as he kissed his way down Will’s chest. He remembers Will muttering something about ‘heavy clouds’ and the way his terrible morning breath tasted when Hannibal tried to shut him up with a kiss. He was right though. It’s been cloudy and mellow all day and the rain was something to be expected, but Hannibal still didn’t bring an umbrella when he went out this evening. He clutches the paper bag with groceries closer to his chest as more raindrops fall on his head and shoulders. Atrocious. The baguette is about to get all soggy.

He’s only a block away from the hotel when he starts hearing something behind himself. He immediately slows down, sliding a careful hand in his pocket, feeling the familiar ridge of his switchblade. The night is quiet and cold, he’s seen hardly a soul on his walk to the supermarket, but the possibility that someone could be following him is never nonexistent. As the sound grows clearer and starts to resemble footsteps, Hannibal stops in his tracks. The second it gets too close he turns around and pulls out his knife, confidant he’s forestalled the attacker, but the blade cuts through thick November air and hits nothing. Only slightly perplexed, Hannibal looks around the dark street, finding it surprisingly… empty. As he looks down to pocket his knife once again, he realizes he’s not completely imagined these footsteps. Only they haven’t exactly been _human_.

There, at Hannibal’s feet, stands a medium-sized shaggy dog, staring up at him like Hannibal’s something interesting. It has long grey hair, that’s falling into its big brown eyes in wet clumps. Hannibal creases his eyebrows, unsure what to do with it. He angles his head to the side a bit and the stupid little creature at his feet mirrors him. It even lets out something akin to a whimper. Hannibal smiles to it, amused. When he thinks about it, the funny little dog sort of reminds him of Will, with its unkempt tangled fur and the seemingly lost expression behind his eyes. Hannibal almost believes it.

“Aren’t you an interesting little thing?” He comments absently, ripping off a piece of the soggy baguette and offering it to his new friend. The dog takes it much more politely than Hannibal anticipated and for that Hannibal pats his wet head once. Now busied with chewing, the dog stops paying attention to him and Hannibal turns around, continuing his walk home.

The rain has intensified greatly since he was interrupted and it’s now making all the groceries positively soaked and his own hair flat and dripping. He pushes it off his forehead, wishing he had a comb with himself, and then he hears it again. The steps. This time he turns around immediately and to no one’s surprise the shaggy grey dog is staggering behind him.

“I’m very sorry, little fellow, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you,” He says, speeding up once again and crossing to the other side of the street. But the animal is tenacious, squealing behind Hannibal. _Offering it food was a stupid decision_ , he thinks, slightly annoyed, and chooses to ignore it completely further on. He holds onto his paper bag, walking swiftly and paying no attention to the quiet tap tap tap of Shaggy’s paws. Yes, that’s what he’s decided to call him. He is a tousled little monster after all.

It goes on for a while like that, with Hannibal walking and Shaggy following him tirelessly. When they finally reach the hotel, Hannibal turns around one last time before stepping through the big sliding door. There, under one of the first properly functioning streetlamps, Hannibal notices that Shaggy is limping. His hind leg is curled and when Hannibal crouches down to better inspect it, he realizes it’s bloody as well. He doesn’t dare touch it though. The dog’s probably likely to attack when in pain and frightened.

“Got a courageous heart? Or are you just dumb? Mmm, little one?” Hannibal asks it, petting his head. He’s quite impressed actually. He has no idea how the strange little animal managed to follow him all this way with an injury like that. “What shall we do with you?”

At last he takes pity on him and decides to indulge in something that he’s not particularly proud of. He sneaks the poor dog into the hotel.

Luckily, it doesn’t end up being all that troublesome. He doesn’t have to deal with anyone at the reception table, because there isn’t anyone there and if cameras caught them (which they certainly did) they won’t say anything until the morning which is quite fine, Will and he are ought to leave this place soon anyway. He lures Shaggy into the lift with the baguette remains and once he’s clicked the button for the fifth floor he looks at the creature at his feet, chewing the soggy bread and is unable to suppress a fond smile. He entertains himself with thinking about all the wonderful expressions this unexpected surprise might draw out of Will. 

“Alright, Shaggy,” Hannibal tells him when they’re out of the lift and in front of the room’s door. “You’re about to meet someone very special, so I want you to be polite. You’re in luck though, because he has a certain partiality for your kind. Then I’ll fix up that leg of yours, I’ll dry us both off and you can have something proper to eat, hmm? How does that sound?”

Shaggy just stares at him stupidly, tilting his head to the side. Hannibal’s about to say something more but then the sound of something heavy breaking comes from the other side of the door and Hannibal immediately opens it, pulling out his switchblade for the second time that evening.

There, on the floor of their hotel room, bathed only in artificial yellow light and shadows, is a man in his thirties, dressed in a fine light blue suit. Or rather, what’s left of the blue fabric, since most of it is covered in blood. He’s on his back, helpless, struggling to breathe. His face is going absolutely purple, as his weak hands try to pry away the tenacious hold around his neck. He doesn’t have very long, Hannibal realizes. The telephone wire around his neck is constricting more and more each second as the strangler tightens it.

“I reckon you’ll finish that on your own,” Hannibal comments. He inspects the way Will’s eyebrows furrow in concentration, his lips pressed tight. Spellbound, Hannibal finally puts the switchblade away and ushers Shaggy inside, slowly closing the door behind them.

He gets a grunt from Will in return, eventually, as he straddles the man in the blue suit and pulls the wire taut against his neck. There comes a snap, a sudden twitch of the man’s legs underneath Will’s weight and then he goes quiet and still. Hannibal hums amused and steps over the corpse’s legs. On the other side of the room lies a little table, Hannibal assumes got knocked down in process of whatever went down between Will and this unfortunate man. He lifts it up and settles the grocery bag on it. As he starts to rummage through it, he realizes with disappointment that almost everything is wet. Everything except – “I got that 3 in 1 slime you like to use,” Hannibal informs Will, holding up the bottle in the air when Shaggy suddenly starts barking at the corpse on the floor. “Shaggy, quit that! I thought we agreed you’d be polite.”

To that Will audibly laughs, untangling himself from the dead man underneath him and coming to pet Shaggy. “Hey there, little guy.” Hannibal sees that the front of his white shirt is bloodied.

“I also got you a dog,” Hannibal says. “Apparently.”

“I see,” Will smiles that crooked thing he often does these days, his eyes glinting and soft when they settle on Hannibal. He’s lovely like this, and Hannibal will tell him, but not right now, not like this. Maybe later, when the night’s grip is merciless and it’s too hot to breathe under the covers.

“Shall we dispose of body?” He asks instead. “Then I can clean that cut on your stomach. I do hope it’s not too deep.”

Will looks confused for a second, like he’s not quite realized that there’s blood soaking the front of his shirt. “It’s not. It’s fine,” He says, touching the crimson cotton with his fingertips.

“I’d like to look at it still.”

“I bet you would.”

Will doesn’t let Hannibal take care of it right away though. Only after they’ve dismembered the body and returned the room to its pre-homicide state. They don’t talk as they work. They never do. They’ve done this plenty times before to know exactly when and how to move synchronously. Shaggy follows them around at first, his big curious eyes wandering and nose sniffing everything in sight, but then he gets tired and curls up under the table.

“What’s wrong with his leg?” Will asks once they’re done and washing their hands in the bathroom sink.

“I’m not quite certain yet,” Hannibal says, drying off his hands on the only towel they haven’t used to soak up the blood around the room. “I was meaning to look into it once we got here, but then… _other_ things… demanded my attention.” He makes a show of handing the towel to Will, brushing their fingers together as he does so, their eyes locked under the cold blue bathroom light.

“That must’ve been a surprise,” Will says. He’s holding Hannibal’s gaze, unblinking and secure, but his mouth is giving him away. It’s pulled into a vicious smirk. It’s scary, the way he gets when stretched to his limits. But exciting too. 

“A very pleasant one, indeed.” Hannibal tells him and walks out of the bathroom, leaving Will with a towel in his hands. “I might as well look into it now. Would you mind putting him on the bed? It’ll be easier and much more comfortable once he awakens.”

“Hmm?”

“Shaggy. Put him on the bed,” Hannibal says, as he searches through his bag for a sedative and something to clean the wound with. He’s certain he hears Will laugh, but when he turns to look at him all he sees is a grimace on his face. “He’s stinky. A stinky boy,” Will says, as he picks up the unconscious animal and places it gently on the bed.

“Yes well, he has been in the rain.”

“I’d give him a bath, but I think we should leave this place as soon as possible,” Will sits down on the bed and pets the dog’s belly. It’s raising and falling rhythmically with every even breath and Hannibal watches the way Will’s hand rest on it, unmoving. There’s shallow cuts and blisters on it and still some dried out blood underneath his fingernails and Hannibal smiles a little thinking about the wonderful diversity of actions those hands are capable of. With how much ease and brutality they snap a man’s neck, but how awfully tender they can be too.

Will watches Hannibal inject the sedative and clean the wound, never removing his hand. Once he’s done Hannibal places his own hand on the animal’s ribs and keeps it there until Will’s fingers brush against his own.

“Will you let me tend to _your_ wound now?” Hannibal asks quietly, staring at their hands intertwined amidst the grey fur.

Will doesn’t say anything, he just starts unbuttoning his bloodied shirt and shifts on the bed until he’s laying comfortably next to Shaggy. Hannibal crosses the room to get other medical supplies he might need and then he starts to clean the cut on Will’s stomach. The incise isn’t very deep and the blood has stopped oozing altogether, but it should be taken care of properly, lest it gets infected.

“Hold your skin taut here,” Hannibal tells him, picking up a cotton swab and carefully cleaning the area around the wound.

“I have this dream of you,” Will starts absently and Hannibal just hums, concentrated. “In the dream I cut my chest open for you with a ten blade. But it doesn’t hurt. I cut my chest open and I hold it open for you, so that you can reach inside and take my heart out.”

“And do I? Take your heart out, Will?” Hannibal places a piece of gauze on the wound and seals it on with some tape. It will be a struggle to remove but this is the only way to keep the germs out.

“What do you think?”

Hannibal doesn’t ponder it for very long. “I think in a way I already have,” he announces. “But that’s not how your dream goes, is it?”

Will turns his head to the bedpost and brings a hand over his chest, right where his heart rests. Hannibal imagines he’s recalling the feeling of having it ripped open only to find it empty.

“You do take my heart out,” He says finally. “You stuff your greedy arm into my chest, until it’s elbow deep and you come back out with my heart – still beating – in your hand. We feast on it afterward – you and I. I make you cook it and slice it real thin and nice until it’s melting on our tongues.

Will’s hand reaches toward Hannibal and Hannibal just sits there quietly and lets Will place two of his fingers covered in blood on Hannibal’s lips. He pushes them into Hannibal’s mouth until he can taste copper and salt and victory combined.

“Can you feel it melting on your tongue?” Will whispers.

Hannibal lets it play out for a second, reveling in the taste and weight of Will’s fingers, but then he gently pulls them out, kisses the soft palm and says, “I’m going to take a shower now.”

In the bathroom he stares at his mirror image for a long time. His hair has dried, but it doesn’t look very good. He’s got deep dark circles around his eyes, but the eyes are still somehow… lively. The streak of blood Will’s fingers have left on his chin is standing out against his skin more than it should and Hannibal dreads washing it off. He knows he’ll taste copper on the back of his tongue for days to come.

Once out of the shower he puts the last of his clean clothes on and packs their toothbrushes and other toiletries in a bag near the door. They’ll most likely leave before dawn and this way at least some of their baggage is ready to go. In the room, he finds that Will and Shaggy have fallen asleep in his absence. Shaggy’s snuggled up to Will’s hip and Will’s got one of his hands buried in grey fur. Hannibal feels a strange sense of pride for bringing the dog home with him. He almost wants to say to Will _Look how happy I can make you. You can have everything you want with me. I only ask one thing in return._

He doesn’t let those thoughts linger, instead he turns off all the lights and comes to lay beside them. He stares at the ceiling for a long time, listening to their breaths. They calm him down. He’s content here, he almost feels he could jinx it.

“You named him Shaggy,” Will mumbles out suddenly.

Hannibal laughs quietly at that. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You’re a strange man, Hannibal,” Will informs him. He’s shifting on the bed and Hannibal wonders if the wound is causing him discomfort. “Bringing me back strays and helping me dispose of a body. You never asked why I killed him. Don’t you want to know?”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Hannibal says. He finds Will’s eyes in the dark and it turns out that they’re much closer than he was expecting. He takes a breath. “He’s dead. That’s all there is to it.”

“What matters to you?”

“You’re a smart boy, Will. Tell me, am I correct when I say that you already know?” Hannibal asks. He’s got a hand on Will’s cheek, stroking the healed scar there. They’re so very close they might as well be making air for one another. Will takes Hannibal’s hand in his own and places it on his heart. The skin there is warm and Hannibal can feel the courageous thumps of the vital organ beneath it.

“You can have it Hannibal. You can have my heart,” Will says. “If you have the stomach to take it.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed  
> leave a kudo and comment <3
> 
> yes i completely stole the last line (and the title) from bloodsport, yves olade


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